Libby was summoned to another table, and she gave Jack and Ellery a bright, meaningless smile before moving quickly away.
“What was that about?” Ellery asked.
Jack shook his head. “I don’t know. Something’s up with her, though.”
To be honest, Ellery was surprised at Jack’s…what would you call it? Perspicacity? When it came to the feelings of a teenaged girl. But maybe he shouldn’t have been. One reason Jack was such a good police chief was he paid close attention to everything that happened in “his” little burg. The other reason he was a good police chief was he truly cared about the health and welfare of every one of his constituents, even the ones not old enough to vote.
“I think it might have to do with Felix,” Ellery said.
Jack’s formidable brows drew together. “What do you mean?”
“I think he’s struggling with everything that happened last month. Dylan told me last night Felix has quit the Scallywags.”
Felix was Libby’s boyfriend and the son of Pirate Cove’s former mayor, Cyrus Jones. His parents were in the middle of a scandalous divorce—among other things—and it was no secret that Philippa Jones was weighing moving away from Buck Island.
Jack nodded thoughtfully. “That’s too bad. The last thing that kid needs is to cut himself off from his support system.”
“He may not have a choice if he and Philippa move to the mainland.”
“True.”
“Anyway, he and Libby will both be going away to college in the fall. Maybe the problem will sort itself out.”
“Maybe.” Jack was not in the let-problems-sort-themselves-out business.
“How’s your burglary investigation coming?”
Jack grimaced. “Early days. None of the stolen goods have shown up at any pawn shop on the island. Which is no surprise.”
“The thieves would be pretty stupid to try and off-load their loot here.”
“Most criminals aren’t geniuses, despite what mystery authors would have us believe.”
Ellery grinned. He agreed. “True. But think how boring it would be to read police reports before bed.”
“Hey, it works for me.” But Jack was grinning back at him.
They chatted about nothing in particular, and then Libby returned with their drinks and proceeded to take their food order. Clam cakes and shoestring fries for Ellery and the rib-eye steak “special” for Jack.
Ellery took a cautious sip of his blue martini. “What’s happening in the Maples case?” he inquired. One of the biggest eye-openers for him had been how very slowly the wheels of justice ground. Not so in crime fiction.
“Not a lot,” Jack replied. “Our perp is still pleading not guilty, still trying to insist it was all a big misunderstanding.”
“How can murder be a misunderstanding?”
Jack shrugged.
The Fish and Chippies, the Salty Dog’s house band, arrived, guitars and mandolins in hand. It looked to Ellery like they had added an accordion player since their last performance—a slender dark-haired woman carried a baby in a backsack and a heavy, old-fashioned accordion case. The musicians made their way through the crowd to the small stage and began pulling out instruments and setting up mic stands and speakers.
“How’s the new script coming?” Jack interrupted his thoughts.
Ellery groaned, and Jack chuckled.
“It can’t be that bad.”
“Can’t it?” Ellery asked darkly.
“The play was great. This will be great too.”
“The play was ‘great’”—Ellery made air quotes—“for all the wrong reasons.”
“No.” Jack seemed sincere, even serious. “I don’t buy that. If people love something, then they love it. How can there be a wrong reason?”
“Did you ever hear the phrase ‘guilty pleasure’?”
“Sure, but Murder Mansion hardly qualifies as a guilty pleasure.”
“How about…everyone thought it was a comedy, but it wasn’t?”
Jack laughed. “Come on, a lot of that was written tongue-in-cheek.”
Ellery made a face. “Maybe. Not all of it, though.”
“It just means you’re funnier than you give yourself credit for.”
Ellery groaned again.
He was saved from further embarrassment by Libby’s arrival with their meals. Even the suspicious speed with which their dinner had appeared couldn’t discourage him from tucking in. What was there not to love about salt, grease, and fat perfectly prepared? Or even not perfectly prepared?
Jack ordered another round and winked at Ellery.
Argh. That effortless—unconscious—charm of Jack’s was part of the problem. It wasn’t like Jack went out of his way to be attractive. If anything, he considered his good looks a liability. But he was very good-looking. The navy-blue uniform emphasized his lean, fit body. His green-blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and good humor. His sun-streaked brown hair, damp, as though he’d showered before leaving the police station, fell boyishly across his forehead. Just the simple scents of soap and aftershave gave Ellery a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach. That was probably hunger and nothing to do with Jack at all. That’s what he told himself anyway.
Tom Tulley stopped by their table, absently dabbing at a few drops of moisture on the tabletop. “Well, well. How are my two favorite customers this evening?”
Jack’s smile was sardonic. Ellery said, “You say that to all your customers.”
“All my favorites,” Tom agreed, with a twinkle in his eye. “How are you two for drinks?”
“We’re good,” Jack said.
“Everything else okay? How’s the food?”
“Terrific,” lied Jack. “How’s business?”
“Can’t complain,” lied Tom.
The three of them shot the breeze for a few more moments before Tom excused himself.
The Fish and Chippies went through the tedious but necessary task of mic check.
“One, two. One, two,” drawled the dark-haired accordion player. Fish, the lanky leader of the band, beamed at her. The two existing “chippies” glared at him and then glared at her.
There was a story for sure.
Ellery was about to share this thought with Jack, when Jack said very casually, “What do you think about going diving this Sunday?”
They had talked about Jack teaching Ellery to dive on their one and only date. The waters around Buck Island were supposed to be littered with the wrecks of pirate ships. Ellery had assumed the offer had vanished with Jack’s interest in pursuing a romantic relationship.
It was very tempting to say yes, but common sense—or maybe self-preservation—asserted itself. Ellery said, “I wish. But I’ve been thinking I probably shouldn’t take any more Sundays off until the fall. We’re too busy right now. It’s not fair to ask Nora to cover the bookshop all on her own.”
Jack looked disconcerted and then disappointed. “Oh. Right.”
And maybe—probably—it was a sort of petty, but Ellery was glad he had said no. Clearly, Jack assumed he would say yes. Clearly, Jack had been hesitant about asking Ellery in the first place, in case Ellery misinterpreted the invitation.